


The Party

by Chuizard



Series: Lingles RPs [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Dragonborn (D&D), Drow, Elves, Half-Elves, Homebrew Content, M/M, Nightmares, Slow Romance, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuizard/pseuds/Chuizard
Summary: Everyone gets invited to this mysterious masquerade in Crestport by a peculiar dragonborn. Jingles does something drastic and meets a new ally. His true race is revealed to the audience!Posting the roleplays from Discord for myself and Ali (foreignobjecticus). If you happen to read them and like them somehow let us know! There may be two distinct writing styles in here because it's... well... a roleplay.Jingles belongs to me and Luck (aka Kratis) belongs to Ali (foreignobjecticus). This was posted with permission from both parties.Ventus belongs to Fen.King Sam Girmin, Karma, and Raghuon belong to Ash.Nepenthe and Caim are mine.
Relationships: Luck/Jingles
Series: Lingles RPs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734376
Kudos: 1





	The Party

Jingles did not want to go to this party, but between all his fearful and spiteful emotions he saw an opportunity. If he went back to Crestport he had a chance to free _them_ \- the two tieflings he cared for so deeply. Of course there would be a chance that they wouldn't even be at the party... there's a chance that they wouldn't even be _alive_ , but Jingles had to try. They deserved it. So he wound up in Crestport. Ventus, the lucky elf, was the only one who didn't need a disguise. Jingles had prepared a few Disguise Self spells in advance to hopefully get through this endeavor, and Luck had bought a new poofy dress to hide his own tiefling features. When asked by the guards Jingles simply presented himself as an elf. Despite how obviously nervous he was, the guards bought his lies. It was hours before the party. At the bakery Jingles overheard the conversation between Ventus and the half-elf. _King Sam_ was going to be at the masquerade. Jingles had to step outside after hearing the king's mere name. He felt a familiar pinch in his chest, which made it hard to breathe, and his stomach triple knotted itself. No one seemed to notice his panic attack, thankfully. Not even passerby's on the street. He was able to calm himself down eventually. It was then he realized he had a much bigger opportunity in his hands. If King Sam was going to be there he could finally face that horrible little man. His chest filled with hatred for the King. Yes, he would be able to end it all...

After searching around and preparing for the party, it was finally time. Jingles was uncomfortable in this environment. It was all too familiar to him. He could picture himself where the servants were. They tirelessly worked hard to please the rich and royal. To quell the butterflies in his stomach and push away unwanted memories Jingles did what Jingles did best: he performed. He took out his pan flute and played along with the music and danced. At first he got some looks, but eventually people started to join in. As brief as it may have been, Jingles felt some joy. A part of him would love to continue on like this for the whole party, but he knew that he wasn't here to just perform. As he danced Jingles took note of his surroundings or rather who was around him. There were very few tieflings. His heart sank when he couldn't find either of the tieflings he was looking for. Jingles could only assume the worst. Then he spotted a small man sitting in the balcony. The jester was so taken aback he stopped his performance suddenly. There he was; the king himself- King Sam. Jingles moved up there without a second thought. A deep loathing burned in his chest, but he was able to hide his emotions behind his mask and his act. It was almost too good to be true. "My good sir, would you like some entertainment? I can provide a song, a dance, maybe some jokes?" The jester kindly offered with a small introductory bow. The king agreed. There was no going back.

First Jingles put the king at ease with a few jokes. The king seemed to like his puns and hilarious spin on the necromancy issues. Then the king asked for him to do some flips. Jingles' eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he did as he was told. The jester boldly flipped backwards onto the banister. He did several flips and handstands on it. Every time he landed perfectly. Jingles didn't falter once during his performance. The king was pleased and clapped for Jingles. "Are you a professional jester?" He asked. Jingles smiled widely behind his mask. "Why, yes, my good sir! I am! That is why I assume I was invited to this party." He replied and back-flipped off of the banister with ease. King Sam had his guard down. Now was a good time as any to make his move. "...Do you want to see a magic trick?" Jingles asked. All it took was one approving nod for Jingles to get up close to the king. He moved his hands in a peculiar manner and muttered something under his breath. At that moment the king recognized the jingling jester, but it was already too late. In an instant there was a bright flash of fire. The king could be heard screaming.

Luck didn’t want to go back to Crestport. It had been twenty years since he’d left the walls of the city and he’d never had any intention of returning… yet here he was, old granny routine in full swing, weaving his way through a party being held with the ruling familes in attendance. It made Luck’s stomach turn, but there wasn’t much he could do. Scanning the room for other tieflings was all but useless on the floor, especially with Jingles drawing attention to himself, and up in the balcony he was too close to what he assumed was the Halfling king… Sam, he’d overhead in the Indulgent Pastries bakery. It was too close for comfort being in the presence of the king. While Luck might not know this particular member of the family, he was well acquainted with the Girmins and therefore had absolutely no desire to stick around. From the top balcony it was easy to spy a number of tieflings, most huddled in a corner and obviously ostracised from the rest of the group. _What the Hell were we invited for?_ Luck thought to himself as he made his way back down to the main floor. By a giant cake he found a young tiefling by the name of Kara – from Tort Bay. It’d been a long time since he heard the name of that small village.

“Oh yes, we trade with Crestport all the time,” she’d explained merrily once Luck had revealed his true self to her. She hadn’t said much about his disguise, but between them there was an unspoken agreement; yes, it was better to hide and she wouldn’t reveal his disguise when it was so well-advised. She was too young anyway, probably had never even heard his name in the tales of the mass-exodus of tieflings from the city. Maybe if he’d used his old name he would have garnered a bit more interest with the woman, but she was distracted then by the chocolate fountain and wandered off. Luck considered going to speak with the next handful of tieflings, or perhaps even put on his Ring of Mind-Shielding and speak with old Granch… he might know who to talk to. Instead, Ventus had appeared behind him, speaking lowly into his ear.

“The person who invited us all is a red-scaled dragonborn,” he’d revealed, asking if he could spread the word to Jingles. “So he’s on our side?” Luck had asked, his deep voice emanating from the old woman’s shawl still wrapped around his head. Ventus merely shrugged, and then before Luck could speak again, a blinding flash of light and a scream sounded from the balcony he’d just been on. From the ballroom floor, he spied Jingles laughing maniacally. _Shit._ Panicked screams echoed across the hall as guests made a rapid escape, fearing the worst. Luck pressed himself through the throng of the crowd, wading against the tide of guests rushing against him, until he made it up the stairs. Hefting his skirts up, he whipped his necrotic dagger from his leg and threw himself between Jingles and the guards advancing on the jester. In his rush, Luck didn’t even see the charred King lying on the floor behind them.

Jingles hadn't planned this far. He hadn't expected to even have gotten this far. Now the king was on the ground, burned and unconscious. It was almost surreal. The jester couldn't help but to giggle with glee. 'Again!' A crazed voice inside his head demanded. 'Kill him! Kill him! Make sure he's dead!' He didn't need to be told twice. A fire bolt left his hand and slammed right into the king. The king's body was sent back a little from the power of the spell. It felt so good to do the deed. If Jingles was allowed he'd shoot fire bolts at the king's corpse all day. He had waited so long to be able to do this- to get revenge- and now that he had finally killed King Sam of all people... it was simply glorious. He came back to reality for a moment and saw the guards heading towards him. Jingles was still full of adrenaline from the recent murder and he decided to make a run for it. He could outrun the guards, right? Jingles ran passed Luck, only noticing him at that instant. He wondered what Luck was doing, but didn't have time to think about it. The jester ran down the stairs in hopes he could get to the only exit he knew of before the guards got to him. As amazing as what he just did was, Jingles would prefer to not get caught. He suspected being caught would be the end of him.

Luck was understandably confused and – frankly – _pissed off_ when Jingles took another hit at the King before fleeing. _What- why the fuck did I bother!_ he screamed in his mind as he too made a run for it. Luck took the lead, overtaking Jingles as they made their way through the panicked crowds to the front door. _At least he’s got the sense to run awa- FUCK!_ Luck drew up short of the door. He’d turned to make sure the jester was right behind him, but the stupid drow had stopped at the base of the stairs and was _fighting_. They’d _NEVER_ get out if he didn’t run for it now. The tiefling tightened the scarf on his head and turned back to Jingles, but he was already caught in combat with some guards… and they were _good_. One took a jab at him with his spear and caught his friend square in the guts, and another sliced him clean on the leg. The mighty Jingles fell. By the time Luck was starting to run towards them, they’d already slapped cuffs on his hands and were hauling his body up. What were they going to do with him? Where were they going? _They’ll kill him!_ Terror clawed at Luck’s chest and he did the stupidest thing he could possibly do. He ran after them.

Jingles tried to get away, but the guards blocked his path. One stabbed him in the abdomen. It hurt so bad he barely noticed that the other cut his leg. He had to defend himself somehow, but would rather not kill anyone else tonight. Jingles used what little magic he had left in him to spray brilliant, vibrant colors at the guards' faces and eyes- effectively blinding them. He then turned on his heels to run back up the stairs. There was some more sharp pain, then suddenly everything went dark. And it stayed dark for awhile. Jingles assumed he was dead until... He awoke. The jester was chained to the floor and forced into a kneeling position. The floor... this room... was all too familiar. He saw blood across from him. He saw his parents, both lifeless and limp. Jingles desperately tried to get up and go to them, but the chains held him in place. He cried out in anguish. A man stepped wearing a wicked grin into his view. He held a dagger that was still wet and dripping with crimson. It was... King Girmin. Despite being a halfling, he looked taller from Jingles' perspective. The jester's eyes widened in fear and he tried to move away. The chains didn't allow him. He was roughly grabbed by the horn and his head was pulled up to expose his neck. Jingles could only watch though tearful eyes as the King pushed the dagger into his throat. God, it all felt so real... Blood gushed from his wound. He could feel the blade hit the back of his neck and scrape against the bone. The pain was unbearable. He tried to scream but all he could managed was a gurgled cry. The man chuckled darkly. "Can't cry now, can you _devil_?" He taunted and then let go of Jingles' horn.

The jester collapsed into a position that looked similar to bowing. He tried to grab his neck to stop the blood flow, but the chains around his wrists wouldn't allow it. He looked up at the king. Now the halfling had an axe in his arms. Before Jingles could react it was swung down at his head. A sickening crack was heard as one of his horns was split in half, right down to the skull. Pain shot violently through his head. Jingles tried to cry out again in agony, but only strangled gurgles came out. The axe came down once more. Another crack. One of his horns was now on the ground in pieces. Jingles felt blood trickle down his head and onto his face. Satisfied, the king left the jester to die on the ground. Jingles' vision blurred. All he could see was his dead parents. All he could feel was excruciating pain. This was it. This is how he dies. Darkness came for him again...

Jingles awoke with a start. He sat up drenched in sweat. His chest heaved with panicked breathes as he checked himself for injuries. His neck was fine. His horns were still in tact. He trembled as he looked at his surroundings. He was in a jail cell, on what one could call a 'bed'. It was really just an uncomfortable slab of wood. At the end of the bed laid his cowl and mask. Jingles heart skipped a beat. Someone... the guards... they would know for sure that he was a tiefling then. He began to search for anything that might help him escape the cell. Maybe he had his thieves tools on him? Jingles only had found a small piece of paper in his pockets. It read: 'I like you. Meet me at the Sleeping Orc bar. Ask for Karma.' He squinted at the note for a moment before he put it back in his pockets. That wasn't going to help him now. Maybe if he got out of here he'll look for this 'Karma'. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice in his head that wasn't his own. " _Jingles, I am sir Raghoun._ " It began. " _You were under the influence of the Golden Mask. That is what made you kill the king._ " Jingles tilted his head in confusion. He knew of the spell Message, but the magic wasn't what was confusing him. "But I... I _did_ mean to kill him." He replied quietly. " _I'm giving you an alibi._ " The voice simply said in a strict tone. "Oh..." Jingles then understood. He was still a little befuddled and wondered why this 'Raghoun' was helping him, but he understood. If he was going to get out of this situation alive or at all for that matter he would have to listen to this voice and go with this fabricated story.

The jester put his cowl back on. Even if the guards knew his true race, he still felt more comfortable with it on. He heard some talking down the hall and soon a red dragonborn -who was missing their left eye- and a dwarven woman appeared. "Well, why don't we ask _him_ what happened?" She said and stopped in front of Jingles' cell. "Jingles... What do you remember from last night?" The dwarf asked with a glare. Last night...? Was it the next day? Morning? Afternoon? Jingles had no idea since he had there were no windows in here. He fidgeted a little. 'Just act innocent', he told himself. 'Lie like you always do.' He took in a breath. "I remember going to the masquerade. Dancing... Playing my pan flute..." He paused as he pretended to think. "Then I saw the king. I-I recognized him, even with the mask. I went up to him and asked if I could perform for him, and he agreed. I... um... I-I..." Jingles shook his head. He looked like he was having trouble recalling the previous events. "Are you having trouble remembering?" The dragonborn asked with a raised brow. Jingles immediately recognized him as the voice in his head from earlier. "Y-yes... wait! I remember uh... telling him jokes and... fire? There was fire." Jingles told them. He wore a confused expression and did his best to look not guilty. The dwarf huffed and crossed her arms. "I ain't buyin' it! There's no way you coulda done something like that and not remember it!" Jingles flinched, but didn't say anything else. This dwarf was a tough one... He didn't want to ruin his story by stuttering more nonsense. Raghoun pulled the dwarf to the side and tried to explain how magic could have affected Jingles' ability to recall the event. He then deeply apologized for not noticing that the Golden Mask was there sooner, claiming he could have prevented this whole ordeal if he had.

The dwarf rolled her eyes. "A'right! A'right! You convinced me. We'll have to look into this further but..." She looked at Jingles and pulled out her keys. "There's no point in keepin' ya around then. Yer free to go." She cautiously unlocked the cell door and held it open. "Go on now! Git! Before I change my mind!" Jingles blinked in surprise, but didn't hesitate to leave. He got up and winced at his movement. He held his torso as he walked out of the cell and looked down where he had been stabbed. His wounds seemed to have magically healed, but some phantom pain was still there along with some brand new holes in his costume. Behind him he could hear the dwarf and Raghoun chat some more. Something about there being less paperwork and the Golden Mask... He soon found himself outside. It was gray, rainy, and gloomy. Jingles frowned. The rain would cause his makeup to run. As a solution he put his mask back on to preserve the makeup and cover it up. Surely it was smudged to hell after spending the night in a jail cell anyways. The jester decided to go to the Silver Swan first. Surely his friends- no... allies...? Teammates. Surely his teammates would like to know that he wasn't dead or going to be executed.

April 13, 2019

_**WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, JINGLES?!**_ Was just about the only thing that ran through Luck's brain as he dashed up the staircase to meet the fiery end of King Sam. He couldn't say he was disappointed; any nobility of Crestport could rot in hell for all he cared. The fact that _Jingles_ had just assassinated the King in front of 200 witnesses was a little harder to swallow. Before he really had a chance to acknowledge the risks of what he was doing, Luck had whipped his hidden necrotic dagger from under his layers of pettycoats and thrown himself inbetween Jingles and the closest guard. While the gesture felt noble, it was ultimately useless as Jingles darted away and down the stairs without even acknowledging his party member. Luck wouldn't forget the slight in a hurry... They whisked down the stairs, Jingles as fast as the little drow could go, Luck dragging behind in his flurry of skirts and silk. Luck dashed through the crowds to the door as quickly as possible and as he turned around, to his horror, he realised the other was still by the foot of the stairs and now engaged with the guards. "Jingles!" Luck cried out more in anger than anything, but before he could wade through the crowd, Jingles has been hacked, slashed and toppled before him. With Ventus yelling behind him and the throng of the crowd urging him out, Luck could do little to stop the guards as they bundled up the jester and hauled his body away.

\---

A mad dash around the palace and an attempt to scope out the jail all came out fruitless, and by that point in the night Luck was so tired and defeated, he couldn't do anything but retreat, tail between his legs, back to the hotel with his remaining team mates. Jingles would be _killed_ tonight if he wasn't dead already, Luck was sure, and a huge part of him felt guilty for the fact that he was almost as pissed off that the jester hadn't acknowledged his attempt to help as he was upset that he was probably dead. But no... Luck didn't know for sure that Jingles was dead and now he had all night to hatch a plan... It was lonely back in their shared room, yet Luck couldn't couldn't help but sigh a little in relief to realise he wouldn't be sharing a room with the same drow that had almost killed him back in the chapel... _You're a hopeless romantic **dipshit**_ he swore to himself. _The kid would just as soon kill you in your sleep after what you've done... Fuck..._ "Fuck..." Luck trailed off to himself as he removed the layers of dresses and shawls which hid his tiefling features. A tidy up and quick bath did nothing to straighten out the _stupid_ conflict of emotions running through his mind, but he did resolve one pressing issue: how to bust Jingles out of jail. In the morning, he'd just need to dress back up as old Lady Luck, buy a nice looking pie from that bakery, and bribe the guards into letting her in. After that, a few hacks and slashes and Jingles would be out. The jail might have been different to the one they'd used back in Kratis' day, but he knew Crestport guards never changed and it wouldn't be all that hard to get his friend out without arousing suspicion when he'd done it many times before.

\---

The morning saw Luck dress back up as the old lady and purchase a pie just as planned, but as he and Ventus exited the bakery, they stumbled upon the last person in the world that they expected to see. " _Jingles!_ " Luck has gasped out, rushing up to the drow and demanding a thousand explanations all at once. "How did you get out? Why are you walking the streets alone? How are you not being stoned to death by the cityfolk?" It was impossible! He'd killed the King and it looks like someone had let him off scott-free! Rightly enough, Jingles insisted they return to the hotel to speak in privacy, and as they sat and ate their bribery-come-celebration pie, Luck's suspicions multiplied. Raghoun had offered an alibi to Jingles and let him off without consequence, spouting some nonsense about the Yellow Mask, Golden Mask, fucking Sunshine Buttercup and Daisy mask - it didn't matter! Luck _knew_ something was up! Raghoun had invited them here, let them kill the King, then given them an alibi? It made NO SENSE! As terrified as Luck was, he wanted to figure this out _fast_... but the final blow came as Jingles stopped Luck from following him to his old slum quarter. "I won't stop you if you follow me, but I don't want you to come..." Fine. _Fine, Jingles... go alone into the slums and get yourself killed again. See if I care._ "I'm going with Ventus then," Luck huffed, looking particularly comical in his old lady outfit, and swished around to leave with the elf. _See if **I** care._

Jingles had to be vague with Luck and Ventus at the Sleeping Swan. He was obviously a little out of it. The usual cheer in his voice was gone and replace with tiredness and confusion. Honestly, Jingles found it hard to believe that he was out of jail and talking to his teammates. It didn't seem real. It didn't seem right. He refused the pie despite not eating any breakfast this morning. His stomach was churning too many emotions to keep anything down. Jingles also refused Luck's company. He was still upset with the man, and the last thing he needed was time alone with someone he despised. Honestly, the jester would prefer Ventus' company at this point. Thankfully Luck got the idea and decided to go with Ventus to do whatever they were going to do. Something about learning how to use the rune stone... With that, the group separated once again. Jingles knew exactly where the Sleeping Orc Bar was, despite not being in the city for three years. He was actually more familiar with the run-down part of town than Luck realized. The jester avoided dangerous territories and shady alleyways as he made it to the bar expertly and unscathed.

As he entered the bar, the occupants stopped to look at Jingles. Tieflings, half-orcs, dragonborns... they all looked at the jester with suspicion before going back to what they were originally doing. Jingles was used to this kind of reaction. Surely it was odd to see a jester of an indeterminate race to suddenly appear at the bar. He was thankful no one outright confronted him. As long as he didn't cause any trouble, Jingles knew he would be fine. He went straight to the bar tender and asked for 'Karma' like the note instructed him to do. His stomach turned when he remembered the piece of paper. He should really stop eating notes and letters...

Jingles went upstairs as instructed and entered a room that looked akin to an office. A person wearing a golden mask turned to greet him. Jingles felt his heart skip a beat. It was obvious to the jester now that he was meeting with the criminal that took the blame for King Sam's assassination. He wondered if they would be mad with him. Jingles stayed by the door. He was ready to make a run for it if he had to. The person removed their mask and revealed themselves to be a female tiefling with dark red skin. She smirked at the jester and looked him up and down. "Well, look at you! Here I was, ready to kill the damned King and you got to him first. Well done, sir! You have some balls, I'll give you that." She gave him a few claps and stepped towards the jester. "What should I call you?" She asked. "Jingles," he replied immediately without thinking. "You can call me Jingles." It took all his will power not to press himself against the door when she got close. Karma blinked and took note of the bells on the jester's costume. "Oh, of course." "And you're The Golden Mask, right?" Jingles already knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure. She scoffed at the name. "Yes, but you can call me Karma. Honestly, it's a much cooler name, don't you think? They call me by my mask color of all things!" The tiefling seem upset about this, but suddenly changed the subject. "I must ask, though! Why didn't you run?" She gave the jester a curious look.

Jingles lifted a brow. "I was- I mean, I did plan to, but..." It all happened so fast! Even the memory of the event was a quick blur. "I _had_ to make sure he was dead. He _had_ to die." He replied darkly. His fists clenched at his sides. Jingles would rather die himself than to let that horrible king take another breath. "Ah... You just got all, uh, arrested before you could get away, then?" Karma nodded in understanding. "You're probably wondering why you're here." He was. "I want to make... an alliance with you." She offered. "See, it seems like we have similar ... 'interests'- similar enemies..." Jingles frowned behind his mask. An alliance... He wondered what that meant. If it was true that they wanted to see the same people dead, Jingles didn't have a problem being allies with the assassin before him, but... "Okay. I will join you if you help me find my friends- they were slaves to King Sam." The jester had killed the king and now it was time to find those he held dear.

"Of course! Who were they? Do you have names?" Karma questioned with a smile. Jingles closed his eyes. He remembered their faces and what they would call each other. "N-nepenthe... and Caim." He told the tiefling. She gasped in surprise as she recognized the names. "Oh, I know them! They had balls of steel too! You know _their kid_ managed to escape King Sam and that inspired them and a whole lot of other slaves to try for freedom! It was revolutionary!" Jingles was taken aback. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Did he... did he really motivate an entire movement? He didn't know his escape had meant so much to others... to his parents. He wanted to say something, but no words came out when he opened his mouth. Karma took that as an invitation too continue. "Nepenthe, she was a brave one. She escaped long ago and is probably having the time of her life in some small town." The tiefling then frowned. "But Caim... oh, the poor man... He was caught trying to escape and was **executed**... I'm sorry you had to hear this from me, but your friend is dead." She apologized.

The jester's heart dropped. While it was nice to know his mother had managed to escape the clutches of slavery, his father hadn't been so lucky. Tears built up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Jingles felt like it was his fault his dad died and the overwhelming emotions made him sick to his stomach. Karma seemed to have noticed Jingles' tears, even if they were behind his mask. The droplets must have ran down to his chin and dripped off of his face. "Are you alright?" She asked. "I'm..." Jingles swallowed. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't tell anyone this, but this tiefling had known his parents. "I'm their _kid_..." He whispered. Karma was utterly shocked and amazed. "No way! _You_ are their kid? Oh, no wonder you killed the king! Wow- just- wow! You've done so much good for us here. You're a hero!" The tiefling was genuine with her words, but she was also trying to cheer the kid up. "I'm _really_ sorry for you're lost though, I really am..." "I don't feel like a hero..." Jingles muttered. After all he had been arrested yesterday, and the way Ventus reacted to him explaining why he had killed the king back at the hotel... He knew the elf didn't feel safe around him anymore.

There was an awkward pause... or maybe it was a respectful moment of silence. The jester suddenly spoke up again. "Alright. I'll join you." He wanted justice for what happened. His father died, but how many others have suffered because of him? He had to set things right, even if it meant murdering more of those royal bastards. For all he has done in this city, there was still so much to do... Karma smiled and shook his gloved hand. "Great! We'll be in touch then. Us tieflings have to watch each other's backs." She winked at the jester. "I'll see you around." The jester left the bar in a hurry. He was doing his best to swallow his emotions and not break down crying. Jingles considered returning to the Silver Swan. Maybe Luck and Ventus were back by now. He also considered... something else. He considered that maybe he should be a little more honest with them. They didn't need to know the whole story by any means, but maybe if he was just a little more open with his teammates they would understand why he killed the king. They were the closest things to friends he had... or at least Ventus was- and that was saying something. If the elf still didn't trust him after that, then so be it. Jingles would just have to accept that he was alone and he would have to continue his own struggles by himself.


End file.
